


Jolly Sailor Bold

by NovelistServant



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst and Feels, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistServant/pseuds/NovelistServant
Summary: Spoiler alert: I lied about the "jolly" part.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	Jolly Sailor Bold

Stan walked into the town that was much bigger than it was when he first came forty-five years ago. It wasn’t that far of a walk and Sixer had always encouraged exercise, though most people would be opposed to a seventy-two-year-old man walking in woods filled with gnomes, tree-giants, Mantours, and Hawktopuses that could attack. But not every old man could still kick butt like Stan could, so he emerged from the trees sharing his name and joined the sidewalk.

First thing he noticed was a small pine tree outside of town, a bit wilted and weak, a sad excuse for a twig with pointy green leaves. Stan caught sight of an abandoned cup of water, smiled cunningly, and tipped the water over with the end of his eight-ball cane; he didn’t really depend on aid for walking, but it was good to have just in case. Before Stan could think to pick up the litter, a gnome scurried over, pick it up, hissed, and ran back into the woods. The old sailor shrugged, his long gray hair shifting at the movement, and he continued on his tiny journey.

At the grocery store, Stan used a small cart for his trip, tucking his cane in it, and wandering for what he needed. He can remember the first time he met Gideon, in this very store, a spoiled baby screaming and kicking for candy he had dropped, but Stan had picked it up and eaten it right in front of the twerp, being the first person in Gideon’s life to tell him “no”. Today was entirely different.

Stan first noticed an old couple his age, bitter and annoyed. The husband had mumbled, “Back in my day, y’all got a good beatin’ for actin’ like that.” Stan then heard the distant crying, and coincidentally, as he walked in his desired direction, he unintentionally came across the crying child.

With his recent years with toddlers and young kids, Stan had learned the difference between an angry scream from a grumpy toddler and a woeful cry from a sad young heart; this was the latter. A young mom with frazzled hair, who looked far too stretched, was rubbing the back of a three-year-old boy, who held a stuffed soldier that somewhat resembled him. Stan sighed, understanding, as he remembered the war going on in China, and reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat.

The tiny boy hiccuped in surprise by the music. His mother turned and saw an old man approach, playing a harmonica with warm brown eyes. She smiled as her son’s crying slowly went away, until all he could do was sniffle with a runny nose.

Stan made his old knees bend so he could be eye-level with the tyke, playing the old lullaby his Ma used to sing forever ago, and he stretched the last note to make the good times stick around. There was a moment of silence, but then the three-year-old grinned, clapped, and caught sight of some long hair over Stan’s shoulder and grabbed the tugged. Stan yelped comedically, making the boy laugh, and his mother squeezed Stan’s shoulder and thanked him before they parted ways.

In order to get home, Stan had to pass a park they had built ten years ago or so, while he was out sailing. It was nice, with a play area and a big field for soccer and football, and it was surrounded by shops and businesses to make it convenient. When Stan was going to the grocery store, the park had been empty, but now a small band of boys were playing soccer, so he paused to watch them for a second. As these games usually go, the ball was getting closer and closer to a goal, and one kid, whose friends were cheering him on excitedly, gave a powerful kick for the point. Unfortunately it was too powerful and too crooked, and it missed the goal entirely and smashed a window of the shop Stan stood nearby.

“HEY!”

Stan laughed and shook his head as the boys were still with fear. “Y’know, a responsible adult would tell ya to own up to whatcha did.”

The door of the tattoo shop flew open with a bang and a huge buff man with skulls all over his body roared, “WHEN I’M DONE WITH YOU BRATS, THE WINDOW WON’T BE THE ONLY THING THAT’S BROKEN!”

“But not me.” Stan added. “SCATTER!”

They all ran in different directions, Stan going down the sidewalk, closer to the edge of town; all those years of being chased by cops or freaking stuff really paid off sometimes. The old man stopped at a park bench in an alley to rest, huffing and puffing and setting his grocery bag down next to him. He had his eyes closed for a second when he heard a painfully familiar phrase.

“Gimme all your money.”

Stan opened his eyes calmly and looked to his left, deeper into the alley, and saw a skinny guy in all black pointing a gun at him. He should be scared, or at least anxious, but one look at the guy’s awful stance destroyed any fear Stan should have felt. He smiled, stood slowly, and asked like he was talking to an old friend. “What in Moses’ name are ya doin’?”

“Mugging you, duh.” The guy snapped.

“With that stance, kid?” He asked, scratching his red beanie-covered head.

“Wh- Just gimme your money, old man!”

“Bad roots make a bad tree, pal.” Quicker than the young man could register, Stan swooped down and used his eight-ball cane to sweep the robber off his feet and stole his gun, leaving the criminal in the mud to watch the ex-criminal drop the bullets with a twirl of the gun.

To the robber’s surprise, Stan held out a hand to him. He took it shamefully, and was even more surprised when Stan was helping him reposition himself. “With a solid stance, you’re a much better threat… wait, move your… there we go! Much better!” Stan held his square, wrinkly chin, and added, “Uh, no offense, but ya don’t look like the criminal type to me.”

“I… you… I…” The young man slumped and closed his eyes, ready to bolt for it, but Stan popped open a can of Pitt and held it out to him.

A few minutes go by and the two are sitting on the bench, sipping the drinks from Stan’s grocery bag, talking about life and women and goals. Stan did a lot of listening and used his experience to lend some much needed advice, sounding like an average joe and therefore easier to relate to and listen to.

“Hey… thanks.” The young man said when he stood up after an hour of talking.

Stan shrugged. “Some wise old man once said that it’s okay to accept help here and there, cuz it’s not often offered, but we need to fix that.”

The now ex-criminal raised an eyebrow with a smile. “Are you that wise old man?”

Stan gave him a sly look. “That’s a secret, kid.”

Eventually Stan did make it back to the Stan O’ War II, docked at the Gravity Falls lake, giving him a homey place with space but also easy company. Soos, Melody, and Jacob were only a twenty minute walk away and always checked on him. He stepped onto his boat with ease, a bit disturbed at how quiet it was here, but he’d fixed that soon.

Stan turned on the lights and sat his bag on the kitchen table. He pulled out a small half-chocolate, half-strawberry cake, opened it, pulled out two candles, got the lighter from his pocket, and lit the twin candles. He then looked at the wall that faced him, his eyes meeting another pair of eyes that matched his own. Stan made his aching body move to take the framed photograph off the wall and set it on the table, next to the cake.

“Happy Birthday, Sixer.” He croaked when he sat back down, his vision becoming blurry. “Why couldn’t I’ve helped ya one last time…”

Stan squeezed his eyes shut in a sad attempt to make the tears go away, but it didn’t work. He pulled out his harmonica again and began to play the old lullaby, wondering if his brother could hear or care or even remember the words their Ma used to sing to them.

_“Waves coming,  
The tide is high,  
As well as the sparkling moon,  
Matching the stars._

_Little sailor bold,  
Oh, come with me,  
Brave sailor bold.  
Come sailing home.”_


End file.
